


The Archmage & The Riftblade

by Ashstrike



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alcohol, Aluneth - Freeform, Angst, Dalaran, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, F/M, Former Slave, Jealousy, Kirin Tor, Kul Tiras, Mana Transfer, PDA, Political Parties, Relationship Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Slavery, Slow Burn, Tail Sex, arcwine, body slamming, horn yanking, mana withdrawal, manawine, puppy face Thurin’dor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25525255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashstrike/pseuds/Ashstrike
Summary: A too-curious Ren'dorei stumbles upon one of the most infamous magi of Dalaran. Known to many and beloved by fewer, Zevarassia bint Adalla is one of the Kirin Tor's worst kept secrets.Intrigue and chains bind soon bind both to cages woven by masters beyond imagination. The Ren'dorei and Archmage quickly find as their fates dance toward another, that many more things stand to tie them together in magic and blood.(The work is archived from RPs between the two characters on the Wyrmrest Accord - US Realm)
Relationships: OC/Aluneth, OC/OC
Kudos: 1





	1. To Begin With.

**Author's Note:**

> Will add more to tags & such when chapters dictate. Bare with me! <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Thurin'dor trudged back into the Parlor. He'd been outside for quite sometime- and looked it, as well. One hand was occupied with restyling his wind trussled hair, the other lightly gripping an empty wine glass. He'd come back in for another drink, but was now very much enthralled with making sure his hair was back in order. Vanity was no doubt his fatal flaw.

Zevarassia looked to her glass of wine with a small frown, noticing the ever-enclosing doom of its emptiness. She yawned and leaned back from her work for a moment and peered around the emptying lounge. Her eyes caught the scrambling elf's hands doing their best and she cracked a small smile. Still, she regarded him carefully and let out a small sigh. Perhaps she wanted silence and to finish her wine, perhaps she wanted to speak to the Void Elf. She would never know, herself.

One hand wasn't cutting it. Thurin'dor arrived at this conclusion rather promptly, and just as immediately, did he search for somewhere to place his glass. The closest table just so happened to be the one Zevarassia was sitting at.  
Truding over, voidflame eyes roved over the Draenei. Taking note of her race, he spoke in her native tongue. 

"Do you mind if I place this here?" he asked, his words coming out without hinderance, fluent and elegant. Without waiting for an answer, the Magi set his wine glass down on the table, and now used both of his hand to set right his precious hair.  
Zevarassia opened her mouth to speak, leaning forward to answer him, yet was cut off by his forwardness. Still, a smile formed on her lips as she watched him with raised eyebrows. 

"You don't fix it with magic?" she purred at him, resting her own hands on the table and tilting her head.

"Seems inefficent." she replied in his tongue easily.

Looking up at the Thalassian, Thurin'dor flashed the Eredar a bright, warm smile. One might had even called it disarming. The smile faded, however, as he went back to his hair, juuuust on the cusp of getting it back in order.

"Oftentimes magic lacks the finesse a simple pair of figners can move about with..." he said, switching his speech now to his own language, knowing Zevarassia spoke it as easily as he spoke hers. 

"That goes for a lot of things, really," he added in thought, before finally dropping his hands away. That felt better. The Ren'dorei glanced over to a nearby mirror on the wall, angling his head this way and that just to be sure. Voidflame eyes settled on Zevarassia, as he snatched up his glass. "Thank you, for the table."

Zevarassia laughed quietly to herself and shook her head, a light blue tinge coming to her cheeks. 

"Are you always that vain and forward with Mages you've only just met?" she teased, her eyes crinkling as she smiled up at him. "Seems to me that was all intentional."  
Zevarassia commented, pointing to his path with her nose. "Was it not?"

Thurin'dor's lips tugged back into a lopsided smile, more of a smirk than anything after being called out as he was just now. The Elf gave Zevarassia an innocent look soon after, and coupled it with, "I've not the faintest idea of what you're talking about!" 

Glancing over towards the center of the room, Thurin'dor flagged down a butler for another bottle of wine, offering up his glass without word to the man once he drew nearer enough. Voilet hues refocused their attention on Zevarassia.

"What's your name, Mage?" he asked, with another smile and a cant of his head to the side. 

Slowly rising to meet his bravado she tilted her head and waved her own hand to her glass and brought it to her lips. Her own eyes peered over the glass and she studied him closely. "Does it work?" she asked after a moment, leaning back onto the table's edge and swirled her cup playfully. She tsked at him lightly, "I would assume one like you would already know a title of your... mhmm... betters, shall we say?" Zevarassia added, well aware of her tone, intended as a warning.

Thurin'dor managed to hold Zevarassia's gaze. The look in his strange eyes, and his lionesque bravado undoubtedly would have come off as challenging- disrespectful, even. If it weren't for that lovely smile that played at his lips, seemingly genuine in the way it was focused and beared. "I've been a bit out of the loop as of late, you must forgive me," he replied, taking his now filled wine glass from the butler. Without having to shoo the man away, he departed, leaving the Ren'dorei to lean idly against the table. He raised his glass for a pull, before gesturing up to the Draenei. "But you certainly carry an air of authority about you. Maybe a little rejogging of my memory, is in order, when it comes to your title," he added.

Zevarassia laughed at his attempt of respectfulness and shifted her weight. "Archmage Zevarassia bint Adalla." she added after a moment's pause. 

"I do realize my name..." she paused and mused for a moment. "Carries both awe and disgust in this great city." Zevarassia sipped her wine and grinned back, her own posture mirroring the playfulness and bravado of his own. Perhaps it had been sometime since she had been able to play this game to its fullest extent. Perhaps it had not. 

"You are quite charming though, no need to feel as if you have offended." she offered him with a tease on her lips.

Thurin’dor raised his long, dark brows in awe at the name’s revealing, an expression crossing his face as though he’d been struck as impressed. “By the Sun- I am standing in the presence of the Archmage bint Adalla?” the Elf asked, “I certainly hope I’ve not offended!” Thurin’dor took another sip from his glass, and swept his hand out to gesture at the Draenei. “I’ve heard quite some tales of your name. And they’ve left me nothing close to disgust.”

Zevarassia regarded him gently and rose to her full height and gave an exaggerated curtsy. Though slightly off kilt because of her drink, Zevarassia still managed her best. Probably not the first time she had done so either.

“Now forget that, and treat me as another Mage you just happened to come across on... fixing your appearance and all.” She offered, her face turning from a soft genuine smile to one that hinted at something more sly. Clearly, she liked it.

Another smile was flashed, before Thurin’dor returned the woman’s curtsy with a bow of his own. He bent over elegantly at the hip, a hand coming to cross his torso, the one holding his drink briefly tucking behind his back. There was some years of practice behind that bow of his, a noble lineage shown off in but a few seconds of gesture. 

Straightening back out, he spoke once more, his demeanor and tone only bolstered by the Archmage’s encouragement. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he purred, “I am Thurin’dor Highsong.” Thurin’dor brought his glass to his lips for another sip, more Thalassian following once his thirst was temporarily quenched. “Do you mind if I call you Zevarassia? The rest is a bit too much to prattle off in such casual conversation,” he mused.

“Not at all, though...” she reflected his attentions once more. “Wouldn’t mind hearing it tumble from your lips in Thalassian.” She mused gently, tapping her own in thought gently for a moment.

Zevarassia shook her head. “You should know little escapes me, Thurin’dor.” She added with another tilt of her head, the jewelry on her horns perhaps glowing a tad bit brighter. Whether at her behest or not, no one would tell. 

“Thurin’dor.” She let his name roll from her lips again. “Seems rather older, no?”

“Then maybe I ought to tolerate uttering such a formality, for your sake- Archmage bint Adalla,” he said, letting those syllables roll of his tongue as though he were savoring the taste of them, slowly and eloquently. Thurin’dor’s burning eyes flicked upwards for the briefest of moments to the Draenei’s horns, and the glowing jewelry in question, before his dutiful attention returned to her eyes. 

“It is a bit older, yes,” replied the Elf, truthfully, “I am afraid that I am not as youthful as I appear.” Another smile was trained on the Archmage. “I am impressed you were able to tell from my name alone.”

“Are you truly?” Zevarassia replied, looking out onto through the archway and standing, beckoning him to follow her as she stepped outside onto the small wrapping-veranda.

“Nor am I.” She agreed after a moment, perhaps a flash of regret going through her eyes. Perhaps a flash of something else. 

“I have not noticed you at this lounge before, my dear.” Zevarassia commented after a bit, glancing back to see if he had followed her.

Of course, Thurin’dor had tailed along, taking Zevara’s gesture and following her out onto the balcony. He placed himself at her side, a hand coming to rest idly atop the railing, eyes leaving the Draenei to take in the sight of Dalaran from on high. Eventually, Thorin’dor’s hues returned to Zevarassia. 

“I’ve not been here in sometime now,” he admitted, “Not since before the city relocated to Northrend, after the War.” Thurin paused, searching the Archmage’s eyes with his own for a quiet moment. He delved deep. As deep as she’d allow, anyway. Whether or not he found what he was looking for, was uncertain, as he raised his glass for another sip.

It had been sometime since Zevarassia had danced this little dance... something about a fellow Mage seemed to always add that little danger to the game. Like a waltz on the edge of a floating rock. She smirked into her drinker and tipped her head, eyes flickering out onto the city as she was amused by her inner monologue.

“A pity then.” She added finally, letting the wine swirl around her tongue for a moment. Her hip shifted and she turned to look at him, her elbow propping her side up against the railing.

Thurin’dor felt another smirk tugging back at his lips, with the Draenei’s response. He was undoubtedly getting as much entertainment from this as Zevarassia was, and that much was showing as he held fast to her gaze. He was quiet for a moment, letting just the right amount of silence pass between the two of them, before speaking once more. A thoughtful pause. “I may just make it a habit to stop by more often, though,” mused the Ren’dorei, “If you’re here as much as I suspect you are.” Out in the elements again, Thurin’dor’s hair blew lazily, occasionally strewn about his face. But he didn’t seem to mind, despite his fussing earlier.

“Why the flattery Thurin’dor?” Zevarassia asked gently, her eyes narrowed slightly at his machinations, or rather lack of them. 

“Believe the boyish charm works on one such as old as me?” The question wasn’t intended to be rude, though sometimes, it was difficult to see how Zevarassia had acted as an Ambassador with her choice of blunt words and lack of forethought in some regard. Or maybe that was her charm.

Thurin’dor loosed a thoughtful hum with that. In truth, he didn’t see ‘boyish charm’ going anywhere with the Archmage. She was certainly immune to that, it seemed. Outed, Thurin nonetheless held the woman’s gaze. 

“Do you want the truth of it?” he asked, “I suppose my flattery isn’t entirely rooted in a determination to woo you. But... it’s still genuine. I admit I do admire you.”

“Always the truth, my dear. Nothing less.” She said with a small nod. Still, she listened gently and shook her head with a grin. In the midst of her head tinkling and rustling a gentle laugh escaped her lips. 

“Admire me from the murmurs across the Magical realm? Or admire me for I did not fall to my knees in effort for your attentions?” She returned the musing effortlessly to him, pleased by their game.

Once again, the Ren'dorei gave some thought to that- which elicited quite a smile from him. "A bit of both, I'd say," he replied, mirthfully. Going right back in for another pull of his wine, it gave him an opportunity to choose his words correctly. Tactfully. The best Thurin could, anyway. Lowering his glass back from his lips, he spoke. "Certainly more of the latter, however," the mage added, "...you've a lot more will and spirit, than most I come across. Which is... exciting, really. I don't feel the usual boredom that comes with conversation."

Zevarassia blew air through her nose gently and chuckled to herself, covering her mouth with a gloved hand for a moment. 

“I don’t believe I ever bore those who are quick enough to stay caught up.” Her words came above a murmur, well aware of his elven heritage negating the fact that she may need to speak loudly. 

“It takes much to break my will.” Zevarassia commented after a pregnant pause, a frown forming on her lips as she peered out onto the city’s sparking streetlights.

That latter comment of Zevarassia's seemed to make Thurin'dor... break character, so to speak, for a moment or two. If the Draenei was paying any attention. He was quiet, ears dropping low against the sides of his head. The Elf couldn't help it, not evening realizing the visceral reaction he had to those words before it was undoubtedly too late. 

Managing to compose himself within time - another sip of wine helped - Thurin leapt back into the conversation at hand. "And how often do you come across those quick enough to keep up with your wit, Archmage?" he asked. His purr of a tone had returned... but there was something in it that signaled Thurin was rather absentminded, still. Half his thoughts off elsewhere.

A small twitch to the side of her mouth and Zevarassia glanced at him with a calculated and calculating stare.

“I am Eredari. My past, present, and future is strife with those who seek my power for good or ill.” 

She ignored his comment for a moment, letting him become lost in his memories as she looked down to the swimming pool in her cup. 

“I know more of broken wills then most.” Her words were strong and stoney as she leaned toward him, letting her hair fall onto his shoulder.

“Disguise your pain, this is not a private place. Either it’ll be used against me or you, my dear.” She murmured into his ear, narrowed eyes flashing towards the low hum of the lounge.

Thurin's ears twitched with the closeness of the woman's voice, firey eyes narrowing at her- though, it was more out of anger toward himself, than anything else. Anger, for slipping up. Whether or not the stumble happened before one, or many, mattered little. Just that it happened. And he had allowed it to. Downing the rest of his wine in a swift pull, the Ren'dorei promptly brought up a hand to wave dismissively.

"Consider it done," he replied, regaining his posture, and the previous demeanor he'd been wearing like armor. 

And, even quieter, came more Thalassian. Practically whispered out to the Archmage. "I wonder how similar our knowledge stands... in regards to broken wills."

“Two stones can be rounded by the same river, in the same manner, though they differ in the time they’ve spent within the waters.” Zevarassia commented carefully, leaning away gently from his intimacy. Still, she lingered against her better judgment and she read him carefully for a moment before relaxing fully again. 

“Would you like to leave the lounge, my dear?” She asked gently, a respectful tone laced into her words. 

“You need only say the word and we can return to my tower, though there are always consequences to every action.” She murmured in regard to eyes and ears of the walls.

Thurin lingered there just as reluctantly as Zevarassia did, his eyes glued to her own tinted, silvery pair. Her words were weighed, with some quiet consideration. Soon enough, the Ren'dorei found himself steadily nodding in response to that suggestion for a more private setting. "Consequences or not," he replied, keeping his tone low, "...I'd say a change of scene would be wise." 

Dropping his now empty wine glass to his side, his ears flicked somewhat, as if just now taking note of the voices around them. The others. "If it'll be of any difference, though," Thurin added, "...we could leave on our own accords; separately, and in a much more... inconspicuous manner."

Zevarassia laughed, touching his shoulder with the tips of her hand, ever gently as she turned. “My dear, no one gets into my tower without my consent.” 

Maybe Zevarassia was aware of the grin on her face, or the tinge of her blue cheeks as the blood danced to her face. Maybe she wasn’t, though it would be hard to tell her otherwise or at all. 

She moved to the archway into the lounge and held the smile on her face, though her own gaze scoured the room for lingering gazes.

After a moment she turned and flicked her hand, stepping out of the gaze of the lounge and pursed her lips in concentration. “Do be quick about it.” 

With a wink, she stepped through and disappeared through the portal.

Thurin'dor took note of the flush about Zevarassia's cheeks. That grin plastered across her face. It brought another smirk to his own features- but he'd not time to comment on such. Instead, with the portal before him, the Ren'dorei followed the Draenei through. He liked being out in public, socializing, really- but he also valued his privacy. And with the conversation moving the way it was, a portal to said privacy seemed best. 

No hesitation was yielded, as Thurin trailed after the Archmage.


	2. Meet n' Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thurin'dor gets a handful and Zevarassia sucks at maintaining the boundaries she sets for herself.

Zevarassia immediately let out a sigh of comfort and stepped into the main room of her library. Not deigning to look up to the tall towers of knowledge, or power, she instead moved to recline upon a lounge chair. Her hooves made a slight sound as she lifted them off the wooden floors and propped them up against the plush beside her legs. 

She hesitated a moment and frowned down at her body, clearly bothered by something.

Three recliners sat in a triangular fashion over the midpoint of the library. Circled tiles decorated the floor and lead upward to the pillars that supported the main archway. Dark purples and grays adorned the stone's pattern, obviously flecked with the remnants of bygone experiments. Upward, the library continued, but not at all indefinitely. Instead, the room was lighted by a mosaic glass piece that reflected the moon's and sun's light respectively down upon the tower's occupants. 

Here and there soft glows and hues seemed to seep out of books, shuffles in the corner were heard or a soft padding of paws on the floor. Yet, when a head would whip to the source there'd be naught to be seen.

Thurin’dor felt a similar wave of relief and comfort immediately wash over him when he stepped through to the other side of that portal. It wasn’t his home, of course- but it offered a sanctuary from prying eyes, ears, and noises that had all soon begun to grow rather overwhelming back in the Parlor. Here, was relative silence, and a decent company. 

Always the fool for literature and books, the Voidshaper immediately found himself drawn to the closest book case he could hover to, letting his eyes rove in curiosity and wonder the times that lined the shelves. He took in their details, and promptly took in the rest the room in general had to offer. Committing to memory the designs of the tiles, the marks upon the walls and pillars. His ears flicked at the ephemeral, ghostly sounds that occasionally echoed from the books and the corners of the rooms. It was all lovely- and Thurin’dor couldn’t help but hide such a thought. 

“You’ve a beautiful tower here,” murmured the Ren’dorei, violet-fire hues roving this way and that, until they finally found Zevarassia, “I am flattered you’d let me in such a wonderful place.” His tone was genuine. But within it had seeped something that was akin to the defer he felt just moments earlier. A pain he was trying hard to keep hidden. A pain beset now by those voices within that plagued all of his kin.

“It’s my creation, so yes... naturally.” Zevarassia smirked up to his moving gaze. She followed him with a gentle curiosity, watching his trailing touches and lingering looks. A small and genuine look of pleasure spread across her face and she seemed to radiate with pride. Pride that fed into her mana, of course. 

“Consider yourself lucky. And unlucky.” The comment mirrored two different tones and played off one another softly, letting him choose which path he wanted. A hand waved gently, the soft glow of her mana spreading into the air with a wisp-quality and a floating silver tray with small cups of wine swirled in their contents. 

“Forgive me. I’ll be right back,” she paused and gestured to the tray and shelves. “I’m not going to carry this conversation in plate.” 

With a dip of her head as she rose, Zevarassia blinked into a dark hallway, her steps padding into the dark abyss.

Those dual tones in Zevarassia’s words were very much noted by Thurin’dor. But, being the rebellious and complicated man he was, the Ren’dorei felt no need to choose either or. Instead, he opted to walk a line between those two different implications. Leaving it up to fate to decide which would pull him closer. 

With the Draenei’s departure, Thurin’dor offered a dip of his head, and immediately drifted over to that floating tray of wine the Archmage had conjured up. With a sigh of relief he snatched a cup up, and plopped down into the chair closest to the one Zevarassia had been seated just moments ago. Glass in one hand, he propped his other elbow up on the chair’s arm, cradling his face in his palm. Idle sips were taken from glass, the Ren’dorei taking this time to recollect himself and get a little more comfortable.

Soft steps echoed along the hallways and Zevarassia yawned, stretching her arms above her head and smiled down at the Ren’dorei from the edge of the room. “Comfortable?” 

She teased him effortlessly, and moved to recline against the plush cushions of her former position. Changed from her Kirin Tor plating, she drew a leg up and propped her chin on her hand, stared over at the Ren’dorei with a masked expression. It wasn’t the first time she concealed herself, and she was quite good at it if she was honest with herself. 

Red wine touched her lips and she hummed softly to herself, laying her other hand onto her hip and toying with the dark cloth gently.

Thurin’dor’s eyes couldn’t help but pin themselves to the form of Zevarassia, taking her in without hesitation. He was entranced, and it was painstakingly obvious the way words left him, for the moment. Raising a glass to his own lips, no doubt to conceal his expression. 

“Very comfortable,” he murmured, finally, bringing that glass of wine to his side once more. Thurin’dor had to pry his eyes off the Draenei- forced himself to shut them close. Another sigh left him promptly, and softly through parted lips. 

“This place reminds me of my own quarters,” he added thoughtfully, void-fire burning gently behind his lids, “Before the Exile. Back in Silvermoon.”

Zevarassia regarded him gently and narrowed her brows gently at his face, tightening her lips. “You’ll have to forgive me, the recent development of Ren’dorei into the ranks of the Alliance causes... massive headaches.” 

Zevarassia let the cup of wine float form her lips and levitate in front of her. She shifted, seemingly disgruntled by something and pulled her knees to her chest in a relaxed form.

“As I understand it, the Ren’dorei have suffered much themselves.” She murmured quietly. An ear twitched at one of the phantom sounds and she let her gaze sink into his form. Still guarded, she studied the make of his clothes, the wear on his shoes, the sloppiness of his hair. Simply taking him in full.

For a moment or two longer, Thurin'dor remained quiet, his eyes closed. Slowly, violet fires cracked open to find Zevarassia searching him. He didn't mind her peering gaze in the least bit, meeting her eyes easily enough to respond. "Some of us have suffered more than others," he murmured in reply, "...but, yes. In general, I suppose the Ren'dorei have suffered much." 

The Voidshaper watched Zevarassia with equal interest, from within his seat, bringing his wine up for another pull. Each glass was tugging his guard down further and further, little by little, it seemed. "What about us, brings you headaches exactly?" he asked, curiously- not close at all to offended. "I don't suppose you mean that... in a literal sense?"

“Yes.” She said after a moment of holding his gaze.

“I’ve heard Ren’dorei bicker about their experiences as if they are the only race to succumb to something far more power and greater then them.” Zevarassia pauses and took a breath, her lids heavy with... something. She held her hand in the air for a moment, and lowered it when she was finished. 

“Excuse me.” She added, resuming the conversation after a moment.

“But yes, that along with the logistical issues your race has caused being a magic-using race and in the home of....” she gestured to the tower and beyond. “Magic. Tends to make headaches.”

“Ah...” Thurin replied, softly. He let the simple word- or noise, rather- linger there, before of course going in for another pull of his wine. Only after nearly downing the glass, did the Elf offer up a response. “I can concede my kin are... shortsighted, when it comes to their suffering. This world, hosts far more of the... hurt, and wounded, than just the Ren’dorei. Some of them forget that fact, in all of their suffering...” The Ren’dorei brought his shoulders up into a light shrug. “Which... I suppose is understandable. Up to a point, anyway.”

Thurin flicked his hues from Zevarassia and to his wine glass, bringing it up eye level, swishing it around idly. Watching as the crimson churned and swirled. He lowered it to his side and focused on the Draenei. “I’m sorry if my presence in particular brings you anyway discomfort,” the mage offered, from his heart, “I suppose I didn’t think of potentially bringing you such.”

“The discomfort is not your fault.” She hesitated for a moment, closing her eyes and shaking her head with a smile. 

“Not entirely.” Zevarassia looked up with a smile and let her eyes flicker from his cup to his lips. 

“When you’ve done the things I’ve done for as along as I have, all arguments and causes seem pointless.” Zevarassia returned the shrug and rubbed her temple gently.

“Do you use fel magic?” She asked suddenly, “Or just void?”

With the utterance of the word 'fel', Thurin'dor physically recoiled in his seat, his head brought back a bit with the question. As though even the word, lingering in the air, could bring some sort of harm to him. Further taint, what was already so thoroughly corrupted. "No," he replied, shortly. And then made sure to mind his tone, composing himself and reeling in such a visceral reaction. "...no, I do not," he half-repeated, half-reiterated, "Just the void."

Pausing once more, Thurin'dor mulled over those former remarks of the Archmage's- and gave voice to his thoughts. "I've only an idea of what you've done, and for how long of course but... I can relate, on my own degree. To finding causes and such rather... minute," the mage mused, "...after what happened in the Rift. To me, specifically. Well. I've found a lot of what used to concern me... no longer does. Perspectives change rather quickly in the face of adversity."

Zevarassia watched him through hazed eyes and tilted her head in curiosity. “Everything is a tool, my dear. Best learn that now.” 

Her shoulders hunched forward and she put her head into her hands, rubbing her temple as she fell into a silence. Partly listening to his voice and partly as she thought what could possibly be afflicting her.

“Being in the grips of Death does tend to do that.” She agreed softly, fanning her hand with a bluish tinge to her fingers towards her face.

Only now, with the continued bouts of discomfort Thurin'dor was witnessing from the Archmage, did he finally speak up- and with some concern, tracing the words in his voice. It was subtle... but there, nonetheless. "...is... something wrong?" he asked her, leaning forward just a bit from his chair to peer at the Draenei, before draining the rest of his wine glass. He pushed the thing up from his hand, and let it hover over towards the tray from which it had come, suspended by arcane magic. Another glass was soon exchanged and brought to a temporarily empty hand, Thurin's eyes remaining on Zevarassia's. 

"You look rather... well, I'm not sure. But you don't seem comfortable."

Zevarassia held a hand up to halt his advance should he come any nearer to her then simply leaning forward. “I need to get to my staff.” 

Her voice was low and raspy, perhaps meant for his ears or just a thought aloud. “I thought the discomfort was simply from your effect, but...” 

A soft groan escaped her lips. “You’ve had absolutely no contact with anyone who would use fel?” Her eyes looked up to him with a strange sort of intensity.

Thurin'dor didn't look intent on moving any further than he already had, keeping his distance, before leaning back into the chair altogether. "...I've not" he simply said, eyes narrowing in guard then, "Are we in danger? More than the usual amount, I mean." 

The mage put two and two together, in short time. Zevarassia's shift in demeanor, and her constant inquiries in regards to fel, were raising red flags for the Ren'dorei. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was a scuffle with some rogue fel anomaly or warlock. He detested such things in the first place. Having to exchange blows with them, was another thing entirely.

Zevarassia shook her head. “Look, either you have fel traces on you or this will be fine as soon as I get my staff.” 

She rose to her feet gently and stood for a moment before moving to walk down one of the many hallways. 

“Do come along dear,” she called out, her voice not nearly it’s full velocity. 

“Mind the runes.”

"I assure you, I've not a single trace of the stuff on me," murmured Thurin'dor, pushing himself up and onto his feet. Wine glass in hand, he trailed off after the Draenei, attempting to catch up and make sure he was fast at her heels. His eyes wandered, no doubt looking out for those runs he was warned about, balancing his attention between those, and Zevarassia herself. 

"I would be lying, if I said I'd not a few questions, in regards to all of this- but I feel time will provide the answers to them," he mused from behind the Draenei.

“Time answers nothing. Experience does.” She quipped back, a door opening before her. 

“Tell me Ren’dorei, if you’ve never been around a Draenei why flirt with one?” Zevarassia seemed to glow in the dim light, between her eyes and jewelry. She paused and waited for him before proceeding into a small room, a staff in the center. 

Zevarassia grimaced for a moment and reached for the weapon, immediately letting out a sigh of relief as the staff seemed to deep tendrils of energy into her. 

“I suggest you’d stay there unless you’d like for me to absorb some of you too.” She mused, the sly and calculating look returning to her features.

Thurin’dor watched the woman with a mixture of curiosity and enthrallment both plastered across his face, stopping just where she’d told him to. “Am I flirting?” he asked in response, a small, lopsided smile taking ahold of his lips when he added, “...I admit I’ve not been around Draenei often- but if the rest of them are anything like you, I may just have to fix that.” 

Thurin eyed the staff in Zevarassia’s hand then, taking a moment to note its make. The energy within in, if such was readily available to his prying senses. Violet hues found the Archmage’s. “What does absorbing me entail, exactly?” he practically purred, “I don’t suppose its a... euphemism.”

Zevarassia cracked grin and shook her head, a small laugh escaping her lips in amusement. “You’re going to distract me.” 

Her tone was reflective of his own though lighter, and stayed there until her staff flared with a darker purple and she seemed to sour. Her eyebrow arched at the weapon and her mouth slowly formed into a straight line. 

“That’s just unkind.” She accused, letting the transferring slowly dissipate. 

“Another week then, if you’re going to be rude.” Zevarassia sniffed the air with a haughty expression though her eyes still danced with a playful air. 

Stepping towards the Ren’dorei, she drew upon him with a morbid intensity. “See, I’d show you, but my reputation means much more to me then that... and you’ve seen much already.”

Still, Zevarassia regarded him gently and leaned downward to the Ren’dorei. Her eyes flickered over his features and she searched him for something for a moment. 

“No fel,” she hummed in agreement. “Thank you for telling the truth.” 

A begrudging thank-you was still a thank-you.  
otlatoca04/08/2020  
Angling his head back a bit to keep his eyes to Zevarassia’s, he flashed the Draenei a warm, bright smile, caning his head just slightly to the side as he trained it on her. 

“Nothing but the truth,” he murmured in reply- touching upon words she’d spoken to him just earlier in the evening. Thurin held her searching gaze, not seeming to mind the intensity of it. How close she was. If anything, the mage welcomed it. 

“Are you alright now?” he asked, his tone shifting to hint at an unabashed level of care, and concern both.

"Aluneth always gives me more then I need." she agreed with his question, though not directly answering it. Her eyes seemed to rake his own in, pleased by the swirling voidfire. 

"You will never find a Draenei like me, my dear." Zevarassia purred after a moment, her eyes closing slightly as she dipped her head for a moment before catching herself. She let her arm drop from the side of his head and pulled away gently. 

"Forgive me," Her words were sincere and she shook her head once more, plagued by her own thoughts. "Failing to keep up appearances I believe."

"I am beginning to think the same thing..." Thurin'dor replied, with a light, soft chuckle, "...about not finding another like you." Shaking his head, however, the Ren'dorei put up some objection to the latter remarks. Even going so far as to hold up a hand dismissively. "There is nothing to forgive," the mage replied, truthfully, coupling his words with a small smile, "You've only managed to cultivate appearances, really." 

That wine glass was raised to his lips, Thurin'dor draining more of it's crimson contents. Intent on drawing out as much of that fuzzy warmth he was starting to feel, as much as he possibly could, it seemed.

"Cultivate appearances?" she murmured, drifting closer to his intimacy at his gentle invitation. A small humming filled the staff's room and she flicked her ears dismissively. 

"What kind?" she asked, leaning down to be more eye level with him, a mischievous smile forming on her lips. "Did the dress help, dear?" 

She seemed to purr into him, emboldened by her now-filled mana reserves.

"Quite a-many kind," Thurin'dor murmured a little... sheepishly, as Zevarassia drew closer and closer. He didn't back away, however. That was the last thing the mage was going to do, opting instead to offer the woman a welcoming smile. "...and yes. The dress certainly helped. But..." The Ren'dorei paused, a contemplative expression drifting across his features; a slow moving cloud, casting a shadow of thought in it's wake, "I'm thinking a bit beyond the confines of mere flesh and good looks." 

Thurin'dor searched the Draenei's hues with his own, before bringing his glass up for another pull- once again nearly finished with this one, now.

"What are you thinking of?" she questioned, writhing around his words and opening her mana pool to his. Gently at first she let him feel her at the edges, letting him decide if he wanted to open that door. Given the abyss on the other side, it was probable he didn't. 

Her eyes focused in on the now-rouge-stained skin of his lips and she licked her own respectively. "I don't know if you're a fool, or too brazen to care."

Zevarassia peered down at him with a guarded expression, her eyes slow and blinking at his response, looking for his expression's gentle change.  
ot  
Thurin'dor's lips parted, when he felt that immense lake of mana, opening up before him. Even at the borders of it, the Ren'dorei couldn't help his reaction, his breath taken from him in a small gasp. And, of course, being Thurin'dor, he decided to edge ever closer into what the Archmage was offering him. Daring to tap further into it, unable to keep himself from the taste of something so pleasant. It was almost instinctive. Involuntary, the way he let himself become drawn to that mana pool. 

"...your mind..." he whispered up at her, in response to that first question of hers, violet eyes lidding just a bit from the sensations seeping into his very being. Thurin'dor rolled his bottom lip, catching the pale flesh between his teeth as he continued to gaze up at the Draenei, a hand slowly coming out to brace himself. Anywhere- her shoulder, if Zevarassia let him, just to keep steady. "It's... your mind I'm enthralled by," was what he managed to spit out, keeping his face close to the Archmage's, closer now if she let him lean against her for support.

Zevarassia looked down at him with a tender expression and softened gently, letting him fall into her embrace. She smoothed back a strand of hair from his face, feeling for a temperature to gauge his body’s reaction. 

Her cheek touched his gently she slowly shifted his weight so that she supported him. Really, it was quite easy with her foot or so advantage to him. 

Carefully, ever so carefully, she opened sectioned off parts of her power to his access, letting him lap to his desire. “My dear, be careful.”

Her voice was merely a whisper and she peered at his rising chest.

Thurin'dor was eager- but he wasn't overindulging by much. Not yet, at least. That much was obvious, from the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his skin remained cool to the touch. Of course, he gave the Draenei plenty of his pale flesh to feel, resting the side of his face against hers, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to feed away. Thurin's lips stayed parted, that hand pawing at the cloth around her shoulder as he practically pressed his body to hers, much too focused on the mana to realize the sway in his body. The balance that was lost. The glass in his hand floated away, tugged by arcane, so that that hand, too, could come to hold onto Zevarassia.

His ears flicked against her, with that whisper, Thurin'dor not at all being able to stave off the visible shiver running through his body as he lingered. "...just... a little longer," he half-murmured, half-sighed, "...Please."

“Sleep.” She commanded him, easing a gentle spell onto his mind as she pulled him into her arms. Zevarasssia lifted him gently and returned through the dark hallways to a different room.

She stepped softly into a spacious room filled with with armories and a bed. Gently she let him fall onto the soft abyss and released him from her arms.

“You’re drunk, my dear.” She murmured against his cheek, letting him choose to hold on to her in his inebriated state or not.

Thurin'dor was Zevarassia's to take, easily scooped up to be carried off by the Draenei. The wine was one thing- but coupled with the mana and that gentle spell, the Ren'dorei was certainly locked in a heavy state of mind. His eyes were lidded, just the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips, as he was taken to some room within the tower. 

Once laid upon the bed, Thurin continued to hold fast to the Archmage. He turned his head a bit, angling it just so that his lips hovered near Zevarassia's ear. "Has the night ended so soon?" he asked, in a nigh-whisper, "Tell my you'll at least be here when I wake, dear Archmage..."

A small smile rugged at her lips and she pressed her forebrow to his gently. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have let you feed so readily.”

Zevarassia smoothed back the hair on his head and hummed softly to him. Her fingers duh into his scalp lightly, meant to soothe and relax the man, nothing more. 

“I will be here, my dear.” She promised softly.

With that, Thurin’dor smiled, finally loosing his hold of Zevarassia to lie back into the mattress, his hair strewn messily about his face. Through the curtain of black locks, he kept his violet hues pinned to the Draenei for just awhile longer, as the last of his will to keep awake slowly ebbed away. “Keep him away from me tonight, will you?” asked the Ren’dorei, a small yawn escaping his lips, “This will be properly ruined... if he comes. Karim... the cur...” 

Promptly, Thurin shut his eyes, and rolled over onto his side, wriggling about somewhat to burrow into the mattress before he drifted off to sleep, almost immediately. Soft, quiet snores left him soon enough.


	3. Horse Shit & Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A date? Surely. Self-restraint? Maybe... not so much. 
> 
> Enjoy! <3
> 
> WARNING: Sexual Content in Chapter

Thurin'dor gazed up at Zevarassia with voidfire eyes. One could swear they burned a little brighter, a little more wilder when they were trained on her, swirling and licking at the air around them with a bit more vigor.

"You haven't been here before, have you, Archmage?" asked the mage, canting his head a bit to the side with the question.

Zevarassia relaxed against the stone wall and inspected her nails, flipping them forth and fro for a moment. 

"Hmm?" she paused and let her eyes flick up to his, watching the whispers of bygone magic and rituals escape from his eyes. "I suppose not, no." she mused, looking around.

"Then again, I may have, a long.... long time ago." Zevarassia added the second part in a musing sort of tone. An afterthought. "Should I? It... reeks of..." her delicate skin scrunched around his nose for a moment and she faked a gag. "Humans and horseshit."

Thurin'dor loses a soft chuckle with that, before taking his eyes off from the Archmage to let them rove the scene around them. "Yes- I think it only adds to the allure of the place," replied the Elf, before flicking his violet hues back to Zevarassia. "The smell clears up when you head toward the water, though, I promise," Thurin'dor added, with a little nod, before turning on a heel to walk off to whatever destination he had in mind. "...I hope the barkeep remembers me."

Zevarassia raised an eyebrow gently and pursed her lips, letting her once-crossed arms fall to her side as she followed him. Her steps echoed the sound of, well.... a horse as her hooves clipped against the pavement softly. "You demean yourself consorting with humans, my dear." She remarked genuinely, as if she was in fact giving him something he deserved to hear and not a subtly racist and closested mindset. If she had her reasons, she certainly was not sharing. "I like Dalaran best when we were hovering over the open sea." she added in an afterthought, slipping back into distant memories. 

Thurin'dor looked over his shoulder to Zevarassia, offering her a... genuinely thoughtful expression, before he set his attention on the small, open-air Groggery that was coming into view. Thurin stopped just before it's entrance, his gaze flicking downwards for a moment. A quiet moment. He then turned to face Zevarassia more fully. 

"The Humans have never been... too kind, to the Quel'dorei," said Thurin, keeping his tongue to his own native language, "...among other things. They don't deserve trust. But..." Thurin'dor looked off to the Groggery once more. "...there are individuals who make up for their race's shortcomings. And besides- I like the drinks they serve here."

Zevarassia 's tightened lips slowly faded into a slight, but genuine, warm smile. She hesitated and smelled the air, taking a deep breath between her blue lips.

"Everyone is shit." she murmured back in his tongue. A step closed the distance between him and she tilted her head down at him, a genuine and carefully maintained expression on her face. 

"Though I suppose you'll just have to find someone who treats you better." she finally murmured into his ear. A slight breeze followed her and perhaps her facial tendrils even came close to brushing along his collarbone. Whatever her intent was, the air filled with her scent as she brushed past him and into the bar. Never was one to be lead, was she?

Thurin'dor 's ear flicked- and he couldn't stave off the shudder that followed, the Elf trying in vain to keep it from running down his body. Which, probably just made it all the more obvious. Loosing a quiet sigh, he followed after the Eredari. "Maybe. I won't   
Thurin'dor be holding my breath, however," replied the Elf, in a nigh-murmur.

Zevarassia quickly muffled the expression on her face to a more plain and contented one. A gentle hesitance fell over her, a strange feeling she had not felt since her early days within Dalaran. She had learned quickly to never let others know, however, especially within a tavern full of potential threats. Well... as threatened as the great Archmage could feel by a group of half-drunk humans could muster. Feelings emboldened and reassured by her own thoughts, Zevarassia stood to his side and watched him curiously. Perhaps a parted lip, tinged ears, a glistening neck or flushed ear tips. She suppressed another grin.

Thurin'dor brought his gaze to meet Zevarassia's- quietly, and curiously. Canting his head to the side once more, he didn't say anything at all... merely searched the Eredari's eyes with his own. Deep, and inquisitively. Thurin was almost stuck there, for a moment- but soon enough mustered enough strength to trudge on and to the bar, immediately flashing Moal a disarming smile, before fixing his attention back to the Archmage.

"And what will you be drinking?" asked Thurin, wherever she stood. Zevarassia paused and shook her head.

"Nothing my dear," she added.

Knowing he'd be disappointed she attempted to convey to him that she'd explain. In private, away, hidden from the all-too-friendly atmosphere of the human tavern. Zevarassia frowned and glanced around, a very masked expression of nervousness flashing on her face. A too-welcoming-atmosphere was just as bad as an un-welcoming one. Her nerves seemed to affect her aura, a slight static charge emanating from her and shocking her as she stepped forward to him, placing a hand on the counter. Her hoof touched the rug and an ear twitched at the reaction, her face still plastered with a smile. Thurin'dor, like the observant one he was, easily took note of the discomfort that was all too visible in the way Zevarassia was carrying herself. It was in her eyes, her body language. Even in the smile, that she forced despite the thoughts that were swirling behind those soft, silvery hues of hers that Thurin'dor... really couldn't keep from delving into. Nonetheless, the Ren'dorei flashed his companion a reassuring smile. Genuine warmth and comfort, was attempted to be offered the Eredari's way, for a lingering while, before his violet orbs were set onto Moal once more. By now, the man had brought forth a medium sized bamboo bottle. It was wide, and unlabeled. Brought with it, were two small bamboo cups. Just in case Zevarassia changed her mind. 

Thurin'dor scooped up everything that was brought his way, in exchange for a generous amount of coin. Turning to the Archmage, he gave her just the faintest smile again, closer to a grin, before walking past her and to a corner table across the room.

Zevarassia followed him closely, her steps loud against the wooden floorboards. A slight, unseen wince behind him and she seated herself close to his chair, facing the open room. A habit, from galas and balls, had left itself ingrained to never let her eyes leave to room.   
"Thurin'dor." she murmured in her own tongue, the stresses and pronunciations strange in comparison to his native Thalassian.

Thurin'dor, of course, waited for Zevarassia to sit, before he followed suit. He was working on getting his bottle of... whatever he had bought, to open, before he glanced up at what he... could have sworn sounded like his name. But, it was different. The pronunciation was strange, and alien, and it left the Ren'dorei pausing.

"...did you say my name, Archmage?" asked the Elf, softly, after a moment of staring. He finally moved to pour himself a cup, while he spoke. It's contents were a clear, amber color. It smelled akin to whisky. But... sweeter. Fruitier. 

Zevarassia finally let her guard down for a moment, concentrating on the area around the table gently. Her hand reached forward and a paler, seemingly clearer, ebb of arcane mana pour from her palm and misted forward. Lost in her work, she acknowledged him only with a flick of her ear and pursed her lips tighter. Soon, a shield separated them from the remainder of the tavern and stilled. Then, it rippled and shimmered into nonexistence, only showing itself to the two by the feeling of arcane before them. To be perceived only by them. A slight pause and she turned to him, breaking out into a full smile as she let her shoulders sag a bit.

"Yes, Thurin'dor?" she purred, Zevarassia's eyes changing as her body softened towards him. Willingly or not. Thurin'dor found his lips tugging back into a sheepish smile, when he heard his name again. The way she purred it out from her lips. That, coupled along with how she seemed to relax, and soften as her gaze was set upon him, dragged Thurin'dor's attention away. To the point where he overfilled his cup for several seconds, spilling whisky just a bit across the table on his side. Immediately, the Ren'dorei spat out a slew of... very vulgar expletives, before setting the bottle down and moving a hand out to the spilled whisky. His palm flashed with arcane- and evaporated the liquid from the table. 

Losing a displeased sigh, Thurin'dor brought that very, very full cup to his lips and downed it in several gulps, before he set his attention to the Archmage once more. 

"Are you a bit more comfortable now?" asked the Elf. Genuinely, and with just a hint of concern tracing his words. Zevarassia covered her mouth with a gloved hand and she let out a giggle. For a moment all she did was suppress her joy and the elated expression on her face. Once she had recovered she cleared her throat and closed her eyes gently, looking away from his eyes for a moment and paused. When she did return to his face her features lay within the same that he had first met her. A bemused expression masking the usual guarded one. 

"Are you alright there, my dear?" she asked gently, her lips smiling around her words nonetheless. "I would've helped lick it up." she added flashing a wry and inviting smirk.

Thurin'dor 's lips tugged back into another grin, a bit more wider, and lopsided than the last, with the Archmage's words. As much he sought to meet Zevarassia's tone and demeanor with his own, the Elf nonetheless could not help the way in which his ears fell low to either side of his head. Crumpling, with the image that was conjured up between them- nor could he help the deeper hue of violet, that slowly welled up along his cheeks, and his nose. 

"If that was the case, I may just find myself a bit more clumsier before the night has ended," replied Thurin'dor in turn, swishing his cup around, along with the contents within. He paused for a moment, before gesturing to her with the cup. "...speaking of. I feel rather rude, sipping this while you've nothing before you. Do tell me that isn't the case, Zevarassia bint Adalla..." he added, purring out her name toward the end, letting the Thalassian come slow, and rolling, every syllable pronounced fully.

Zevarassia paused and a flash of guilt ran across her face. In her need to defend herself from an obviously non-threatening man, she failed. 

"My dear..." she murmured, a hand reaching across to gently place itself on his own. "I really, really, hope I haven't offended you." Zevarassia studied him gently, an earnest and gentle expression on her face. Though he seemed to be slighted by her demeanor he looked... flushed. A very brief flicker of confusion flashed across her face and she pursed her lips gently. 

"Say my name more often and I'll say yours. Archmage is when we're in public." she glanced to the wide tavern, her hand gently tracing small circles in his palm, an afterthought. "This is anything but."

Thurin'dor found himself once again canting his head to the side, also out of confusion over Zevarassia's words now. 

"You've not offended me in the slightest," he replied, earnestly, his ears soon rising back to their full height, "Why would you say such a thing?" He question was asked softly, and curiously- even apologetically. Thurin hoped that he, too, had not offended the Eredari. He kept his hand under the touch of hers, not daring to move from that physical connection, however temporary it might've been. Slowly, and rather instinctively, his fingers even curled around the woman's outstretched hand, reacting welcomingly to those circles drawn across his palm. With her latter comments, he followed Zevarassia's gaze to the Groggery, and its inhabitants, before he looked back to her.

"Apologies," he murmured, "...I'll keep that in mind, however. I'd not want to... risk your safety, simply for wanting to taste your name on my tongue. It's flavor is quite tempting, I will admit though." With that the Ren'dorei cracked another smile, and added, "You'll have no trouble with my name, however. Please, say it as often as you desire."

Zevarassia watched his ears in fascination. 

"What do they do when you're aroused?" she blurted out, her eyes alight with curiosity.   
"Do they change with the type of arousal, say if I do this?" she immediately leaned forward. Her chest plate bumped the edge of the table and she pulled her glove off of her hand, running her fingertips along the length of his neck's primary muscle.

"What of this?" she murmured, leaning evermore closer and she tried to gauge different reactions from his body.

"And my dear," she whispered to him, now mere inches from his face as her massive shoulders and chest loomed before him.

"If you wanted me to say your name over and over again, you only needed to do something worthy of it." Zevarassia promised. Her silvery eyes became half-lidded and a satisfyingly smug smirk befell her face. The ungloved hand moved to his lower jaw, stroking the fine facial hair for a moment before grasping him with a light touch of her fingertips. They seemed to flirt with the idea of a stronger grip as she tilted his chin towards her expectantly.

"I thought I gave you shame. I misread you." Zevarassia purred after a moment, clearly and not unsurprisingly pleased with the development.

The Elf was... beyond receptive, to Zevarassia's sudden onslaught of affections, all too easily awakening a hunger within the Ren'dorei. He was absorbed into what the Eredari was offering him, and paid not a single modicum of attention to what fate befell his whisky. It didn't exist. Nothing outside of Zevarassia did. Hungrily, his lips undulated against hers, his own tattooed, partially gloved hands coming to rise and settle themselves at Zeva's waist, pawing needily at the cloth there, and what lied underneath, just enough pressure applied for his fingers to be felt upon flesh and muscle. That kiss, the longer it remained, turned into a battle of passion for Thurin'dor. He pushed back into her with such greed- and when she finally pulled back for air, he leaned out to catch her bottom lip between his, playfully, gently, before releasing her to her own devices. 

Even though their lips were no longer in a dance, it didn't stop Thurin from expressing he wants in another manner. The moment Zeva sought air and met his gaze, the Ren'dorei couldn't help but roll his hips forward and up against her own. Tension and excitement all but noticeable underneath his cloth trousers, which he made sure the Eredari could feel in that slow, drawn out grind against her. 

"You taste like honey, Archmage," purred Thurin, his tongue coming out to grace his lips ever so slowly.

Thurin'dor probably tasted like whisky. That exotic brew that he'd bought, graced with hints of fruits, and smoke, cherries and oak.

"Do I?" she purred against his skin, her voice coming low and warm across his neck. Half-lidded silvery eyes took in his chest as he gasped for air, the rise and fall, the beat of his heart, the flushed-bluish-tinge at the edges of his cheeks and ears. 

Her mouth twisted and she growled, a hand moving to his stomach and cupping his clothed muscles. Fingertips moved like spiders across his skin, like they had a mind of their own as they pulled and prodded at the folds of cloth and fabric. A hand snuck to his chin and grasped him, perhaps a little bit more firmly and she held his gaze for a moment. It was there she paused, the air taught with their wanton arousal and greed, pulled thin by their desire. She dropped his chin and rose. 

"Get up." she commanded. A hand rose and she poured an added portion of her energies into the shield she had created for their supposed-drinking not even ten moments before. Her tongue flicked out onto her lips and she moved unclasp a specific part on her pauldrons and motioned for him to do the same. 

"Underneath the divining crystals, the longer portion." her tone was swift and efficient, but strained as well. "I can dismiss the other pieces, but pauldrons interfere."

That hand at his stomach, met flexed, toned abdominals, Thurin pressing his cooler skin against it. They were well used, firm, sculpted carefully through a combination of work, and care. His parted lips were seized by yet another sound, when his chin was grasped, a quiet cross between a groan, and a sigh escaping against her skin.

With the way Thurin'dor moved, one could have easily made an assumption that Zevarassia was his superior. The moment those words left her lips, he shot up, not at all intent to keep too far from her, or keep the Archmage waiting. He stood right before the Eradari, his own hands working with haste to unclasp his shoulder guards from his person, loosening them as swiftly as the woman desired, not caring at all where they fell to as they soon clattered to the floor. The Ren'dorei's eyes were absolutely alight, ears still low to the sides of his head as he felt so many different emotions swelling up within, eager to be rid of his clothing. To be close as possible to Zevarassia.

"Mine." she tutted immediately, though moving to help him with his own. It was clear to her that his dress, while it did impress her, was new to him in the realization that the Kirin Tor uniform was much easier to put on then remove. Perhaps to... allay certain relations within their ranks. Her slender hands worked at his own armor before her own, deftly removing the cloth set much easier then her own.

"You remember when you fell into my arms?" she murmured, hands running over his increasingly barren body. Zevarassia cupped his shoulders and ran a thumb over them gently, leaning forward to press kisses along the muscle connecting them to his pectorals. 

A blue tongue dipped out of her lips and ran along his collarbone, and she nipped him gently. Silver eyes watched his face and body react to her touch. She delighted in it, the shudders, moans and gentle gasps she seemed to elect from his lips without thought. 

"Do you want to see my breasts or hump plate?" she remarked dryly, a teasing twitch of her mouth being the only thing betraying her teasing attitude. Zevarassia took a step back and admired her handy-work.

With that former correction, that flush of Thurin's only grew darker. And he moved with the utmost haste to make good on the correction, his hands dancing across Zeva's own pauldrons to free her of them. And, after he was helped out of his own cloths, the Ren'dorei offered the same for his companion, hands moving to aid her in becoming much, much more comfortable. As bare as Thurn'dor had become, leaving only undergarments to serve as a barrier between he and her. 

He was happy to be free of most of the confines of his clothing. Though, it was all to apparent that those breeches of his were probably becoming tighter, and more uncomfortable by the second. Such a thought however, was derailed when he felt Zeva's affections return to him. Her fingers along his skin. Her lips. Feeling her tongue- and then her teeth, at his collarbone really seemed to draw quite the response from the Elf, a much more voiced groan being coaxed from his with it. The flood of pleasure however, didn't stop him from returning it. 

His own hands roved Zeva's hips, keeping her tight against him, unabashedly moving to feel, and commit to memory of inch of skin he could reach, drifting down to her rear to paw away, inching closer to the base of her tail. He returned the Archmage's kisses with an array of his own, angling his head in to press them to her neck. Trailing them toward her jawline. 

"Skin... over plate, yes..." he murmured, in between those kisses of his, his hands immediately coming to work away the bra that clung to her, undoing clasps before eventually flicking the thing away, more than eager to see what Zeva proposed.

Zevarassia's breath caught in her throat as she felt his lips upon her dark skin, leaving wet trails of affection and attention upon her neck. A whimper escaped her lips as her body seemed to react immediately and she pulled him by the string of his undergarments to the chair he once sat upon. 

As her breasts freed themselves with his grasp, she let out a sigh in sync with their gentle bounce. He radiated with energy before her and she licked her lips greedily. A hand snuck down to the outside of the cloth garment, pulling and rubbing at him teasingly. Her mouth caught his own again, greedily claiming its attentions from the rest of her body. She halted for a moment and whispered a small incantation, shivering at the effects of the momentary charm on her body. 

Zevarassia's tail lifted, shimmering with what seemed to be a purplish-dust, and she turned her body so that her ass pressed against his length. She made now effort to lean forward onto the chair, instead letting her charmed tail trap him in his cloth confines.

Thurin'dor was hers to lead, easily tugged toward the chair, another groan leaving his lips just at the mere thought of him being lead this way and that by the Eredari. It was an arousing gesture, and left Zeva all the more excitement to feel once she slipped a hand down to tease at his length. He twitched against her from underneath, leaping at her fingers eagerly, pulling a moan from the Ren'dorei, which was promptly muffled with the kiss that came. 

With her breasts freed, Thurin did not leave them without attention. Both hands joined in giving her affections, fingers curling around the cusps and curves of either breast, applying a gentle pressure here, and there, fingers roving out to pinch lightly at her nipples, attempting to discover what brought forth the most visceral reaction. And then she turned, and Thurin's hands immediately wrapped around Zeva's sides to pull her closer, digging into her hips, bringing her tighter against him, as her tail seized his length. A gasp was breathed into the night air, and Thurin'dor couldn't help but squirm, still stuck within his breeches. He throbbed in her vice, a pleading noise accompanying that moan, to taper it off.

Though Zevarassia knew it was meant to do the opposite, all she felt was glee and pleasure at the incoherent pleading from the Ren'dorei's lips. 

"What was that?" she purred against his skin, her head turning slightly, letting his lips fall before her ears and sending shivers down her spin. She flushed and hardened accordingly, an uncomforting ache forming in her thighs. 

"Say it again, my dear, I didn't catch that." She egged him on further, a pleased moan erupting from her lips as she felt him throb in her tail's grasp. The appendage, true the enchantment pulled and squeezed with a mind of its own. Still, it had yet to break the surface of the cloth. 

Zevarassia snaked a hand up behind her, pulling his jaw to hers in a sideways kiss. Her cheek rubbed against his and she drunk from him greedily with half-lidded eyes.

When Zeva turned her head some, to tease him, Thurin’dor responded in kind by taking the Eredari’s earlobe into his lips. He wrapped them around her flesh there, pressing suckling, nibbling kisses to it, teeth gently tugging and pinching before he pulled them back to loose another moan against her skin. The Ren’dorei couldn’t help it, being so thoroughly captured and squeezed. It was mind numbing. He couldn’t get words out.

Still, Thurin’dor managed to hold up in his own affections. His hands snaked their way around Zeva’s waist, and aimed to slip under her drawers. There, tattooed fingers inched toward the warmth between her legs, closer to her clit, that bulb that he teased along its outer edges. 

When his lips were stolen by Zeva’s, he leaned in and returned he kiss fully. Cracking his lips ever so slightly, letting his tongue prod and flick again Zeva’s. An inquiry for entry, coupled with another pleading moan that had only seemed to grow more urgent, more hungry as the moments went by. Thurin grew in her hold of him, as though trying to challenge the pleasurable grip he was stuck in, hips arching to press himself against the cloth wall and more into the Archmage’s touch, voidfire eyes locked to hers the best they could.

“Tell m-“ her lips formed a small ‘o’ shape and she broke off with a loud cry of pleasure. Silver eyes closed entirely and she rested her rack against his left shoulder, still evermore twisted to face him slightly. Her hips ground against his own and she became lost in her own gasps and moans of pleasure.

Her skin tingled with a different energy then when first walking into the tavern and she brought her left hand to his attentive fingers, pushing him closer into her wet arousal. She bucked against his hand, seeking friction on the deft workings of the mage’s fingers. 

“T-th-thurin’dor...” she managed to let slip out, breasts heaving with every labored breath she now took. Against his chest she shivered, her tail finally slipping into his clothe prison and wrapping itself around the base of his cock. It pulsed and squeezed him, as aggressive as ever. 

Zevarassia broke into an evil grin and she painted a moment, bringing down the hand that had been cupping his face and neck to her tail and murmuring as steadily as she could. 

Her lips parted in a pained hiss, and she let out a tortured groan, her tail now as hot as her walls would be inside her. The coiling, enchanted, and seeping hot tendril wound itself around the Ren’dorei’s cocks once more.

Thurin’dor wasn’t going to let Zeva do all the work against his fingers. He responded to the buck of her hips, by moving his fingers - the pointer and middle - to rub and work across her bulb. He’d try different directions, motions, angles, and if one was found to be more pleasurable than the other, he stuck with it. The other hand marched further down, and teased at her entrance, stroking out at her lips, inching closer to their center. 

Meanwhile, that tail finally seizing ahold of Thurin in his entirety nearly undid him. He had to pull his lips away to gasp in air, out of necessity and arousal both, immediately expelling the precious oxygen in a rather loud moan against Zeva. “Aaah...” cried the mage, barely managing to let out a choke, “...Zevarassia... bint Adalla...” before leaning forward to bury his lips against her skin, peppering her cheeks, and lips, nose and jawline with desperate, wet kisses. 

He rolled his hips in earnest now, thrusting forward into her tail’s hold of him, twitching, and throbbing, urging her on, needing and wanting more. “So... warm...” he panted out, between kisses.

Zevarassia rolled her body in tune with his thrusts. The tip of her tail snaked it’s way across his moving length to his own tip, trailing slowly across the pumping head. Her own face contorted into a controlled grimaced and she let him grind and jump against her ass. Rebounding and rippling with every bounce, her breasts and the rest of her body slowly found a steady motion against his incessant grinding.

A loud gasp alerted the Ren’dorei to her sweet spot and she found herself pulling his taut art down further and farther into her. A hand clawed at his neck and messy locks, while the other scratched and clawed along the length of his forearm. 

“My…first name...” she breathed aloud. Her skin began to glisten with the exertion of her body and maintained mana shield. Similarly, her arcane ‘bubble’ around her began to meld with his own, the charged energy in her core reflecting the mana’s.

Zevarassia would find the warmth of Thurin’dor‘s arousal leaking freely, slickening the tip of her tail’s movements in pre that seemed to never stop in its trickle. Feeling her grace him there alone pulled another cry from Thurin’dor, a hot, ragged breath against her glistening skin as he continued his thrusts. Thrusts, which were growing a bit less controlled, his hips bucking and rolling without pause or restraint.

His fingers continued to pleasure the mage between her legs, those first two fingers relentlessly stroking out at at her nub, gliding around in the way Zeva seemed to like the most. His other fingers, began to push themselves into her. Slowly, the same two fingers of the other hand began to curl within her, stroking out in little hooked, “beckoning” motions, once inside. Her wetness only made the movement below easier, and effortless. 

Pulling his lips from her face, and burying them more against her ear, Thurin’dor whispered to her, in the thickest Thalassian accent he could muster. “Zeva... rassia...” came her first name, it’s syllables drenched in the sounds of his native tongue, coupled with his lips being pressed to her lobe, his tongue dragging along cartilage and violet skin, teeth clamping down to pinch and nibble. All the while those cries and moans of his continued in their frequency, the volume. The growing need. “Zevarassia...” came her name again, moaned out against her, that last “a” being pushed out of his lips to form a strained, ”aaaah...”

A loud whimper flew from her lips as she shivered against him. Again and again she pressed against him, body shuddering from the hotness of his breath cascading down her shoulders and chest.

Moans became unstifled and freed like a river’s current from her lips. Pouring her affections and approval ceaselessly from her tongue, Zevarassia moved her body in suit.

Her finger scratched at his skin more desperately, her tail throbbing in sync with heat, her hips grinding against his hand with evermore a increasing frantic build.

“T-Th...” she moaned loudly at the feeling of his lips against her neck and gasped for air. 

“Thurin’dor,” she tumbled out, Zevarassia’s purple skin entwining with his soft violet as she pulled him closer. 

“P-p-please...” A soft cry.

His name. The plea. The way Zeva whimpered and clawed at him, moved her hips and thrust back against his grinding. It was undoing Thurin’dor. Swelling in her hold of him, it was all too apparent what was coming next, his length now absolutely coated in his own excitement and arousal, clinging fast to the tail that had him in such a pleasurable, hot grip. A choked moan was all Thurin’dor could manage in response, before he lowered his head and sought out Zeva’s breast to muffle himself with. He groaned against her flesh there, wrapping his lips around peak of her mound, a tongue coming to flick and dance across her nip for a brief moment or two before he was forced to pull away, panting, pulling breath as he staved off the coming eruption for just awhile longer. Thurin’s hands mean while moved with haste, now. Delving as deep as his fingers allowed, pressing into her with the other pair.

Gradually, Thurin’dor was shifting his weight, angling himself against Zeva to face her more, before his body was finally seized with impatience. Twitching, throbbing, a swell within the Eredari’s hold, and a final, rasped, “Zevarassia...” was all it took to signal the release that came. It seized Thurin’dor’s entire body, the Elf letting out a crying moan into the air against Zeva as he released in bursts, painting her backside and her rear with a generous climax that seemed it would never end, sputtering across the tail tip that teased at his swollen head. He continued to give attention to her lips below, throughout the ordeal, bucking himself and continuing the rolls of his hips in and out of that vicelike grip. Never once breaking their dance of pleasure.

Zevarassia’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as his mouth found her breasts. A loud sigh of approval floated from her lips, and she shivered against his burning body. 

With every gasp and groan of excitement she felt a rising pang of heat within her, adding to the ministrations from his digits. Sloppy and wet sounds filled the air from her arousal. As his breath caught in his throat at his climax, she turned, pulling his jaw down to her lips to connect them as he finished across her backside and ass. Zevarassia wish to see it, marvel in the glory, but was caught swept away at her own arousal at his seed coating her. 

Combined with his new attentive fingers curling within her and the greedy grasps and gropes at her flesh and grunted stiffly. A burning in her thighs and stomach danced there, slowly licking their way to her wet folds that opened so easily for his pale hand.

Thurin’dor was still firm, hard and twitching in Zeva’s hold of him despite his climax, and he once again set out to roll his hips into the grip of her tail- though with a newfound slow, eased pace now that he’d worked those initial, burning desires from his loins. This new tempo gave the Ren’dorei a chance to appreciate a little more consciously everything Zeva offered him. How firmly he was held, how her lips danced across his, the warmth and wetness his fingers were buried in, dragging out and stroking into her desire and pleasure. Her noises urged him on, and he’d not cease in his delves within Zeva’s folds until she reached the same heights of pleasure the Voidshaper had just come down from. 

Pulling his lips from Zeva’s, Thurin once again returned to her breast. Now, he took his time, trailing tender, slow, lingering kisses along its curve, before honing in on her nipple. He took it up in his lips, suckled it, flicked his tongue across it- and even clamped down with his teeth once more, testing it’s texture, the firmness, gently and playfully catching it between his teeth. 

He looses a soft moan against her skin, letting her feel the warmth of his breath against her breast, the way his mouth vibrated around her. Thurin’dor was worshipping the Eredari in every way that he could. Incessantly. Dutifully.

Zevarassia burned within and opened her mouth in a silent cry. Inside her bubbled a potion that brewed the first moment his cocky grin set eyes on her, churning forth and fro, to the moment he now drew it from within her. She spilled over the tops of her confines as she threaded in his arms.

A slight ‘pop’ filled the air as Zevarassia leaned on him reliantly through her climax. Her skin tingled with arcane and seemed to envelope him more with just her physical pleasure. The Eredari melded into him, propelled not by a stilll peak and fall of pleasure, but of a massive wave that took its time to crash against the shore.

With Zeva melding against him from a comedown of her own desires, Thurin’dor took it as an invite to do just the same. His hands slowly withdrew from her, and his arms now encircled the Eredari in a full, tight embrace, holding her tight and close against him, his body pressed to hers. The Ren’dorei had melted; rasping, panted breaths loosed against her as he finally reigned in all the tension that had once seized his toned body. “Zevarassia...” he murmured against her- leaning forward to press his lips to whatever part of the woman’s face was available to him, for lazy, but affectionate, wet kisses, “...you are beautiful.” 

The Voidshaper sighed against her glistening skin, bathed in the light of candles and stars, continuing to shower it with slow, idle laps of his lips. Thurin’dor couldn’t keep away from her- even in his pleasure drunk state. His eyes were lidded, and his heart was descending from a drumming thunder, easily felt by Zeva with how tightly she was pulled against him.

Her body seemed to glue itself to his skin, no need or urge to pull always as the gentle waves of pleasure lapped at her mind. Still, even in their receding ache, she ground herself against him. 

Zevarassia grinned and shook her head at him, fully turning her body around to face him. A leg lifted itself onto the chair and she pulled him closer, arms wrapped around his lithe waist. His sex nuzzled against her core due to her position and she pressed her forebode against his in a gentle hug butt.

When that leg came up, Thurin'dor really, really couldn't help but bring a hand up to run along the length of her thigh. Exploringly. Tenderly, his fingers and palm roved Zeva's skin, fingertips gliding along her flesh as he was tugged in further against her. He eventually brought his head a bit low, in the Archmage's hold of him, to lay more kisses along that leg. From her knee, to her hip, he trailed a shower of affections, eventually reaching her stomach where he'd linger. 

Both hands now settling at her sides, Thurin'dor lapped idly, and tenderly around her navel, between her ribcage, violetfire hues flicking up to meet hers as laid his kisses.

Zevarassia’ stomach seemed to dance in-front of his voidfire eyes, and she watched as her muscles shook and quivered in response to his touch. A hand caught his neck and she held him gently, not letting him further his advance beyond her lower naval. 

Blinking eyes stared down, half covered by her heaving breasts and chest. Wordlessly she loosened her grip on his chin and trailed a hand through his beloved locks, tenderly tugging them and taking a gentle fistful. 

“I think that is enough for tonight.” She finally rasped out, her folds mere inches from him in more then the sense of her sex. Yet still, they seemed to resolidify themselves before his eyes. An armor she donned though naked.

Thurin... really seemed to like being taken up by his hair like that, his kisses coming to a halt the moment she spoke, eyes lidding just a bit as he felt her fingers curl into his locks, parted lips loosing a soft, quiet groan sighed out in response. He gazed up at her sheepishly, a small, understanding smile tugging at his lips, before they were pressed against her stomach once more. Thurin'dor gave the Eredari a few more kisses there, just above her navel, before pulling his lips away entirely. For a moment, he merely kept his eyes to hers; and then, slowly attempted to raise his head to be more eye level with the Archmage- if her grip of him allowed. 

"I hope I've not offended..." he murmured, his words somewhere between a whisper, and a purr.


	4. Conflictions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The previous RP setting was not logged, so we tried out best to make sure adequate background was given to their scene. Enjoy! :)

Thurin’dor stood disheartened by the fountain, still in the presence of that strange Ren’dorei girl, as he watched Zevarassia disappear down the cobblestone streets of Old Town. Already, the city felt empty without the Eredar at his side. Nothing, not even a member of his own kin, could bring his attention away from the sudden loss he felt just then. Words came from the unnamed Ren’dorei nearby, but they fell on deaf ears, Thurin’dor feeling his feet carry him off at a brisk pace toward where Zevarassia had left to. 

Had he really upset her that much? The mage chastised himself with the question, as he weaved his way through alleyways, underneath stone tunnels and across arched bridges, before he began to mount the steps of Stormwind Keep, taking the steps two at a time after one seemed much too slow. Such strange feelings, nearly alien, drove Thurin’dor and his ascent. He didn’t want to lose the Archmage- not after having just met her. She was too great a woman, too great of a light, finally gracing his darkened and nearly pointless life, to see slip out of his hands from his own blunders. 

Zevarassia's hands tied themselves behind her back, gloved fingers grasping at one another as she looked out to the lake below the palace courtyard. After she had snapped at Thurin’dor, and with the disgusted feeling creeping into her heart she fled to one of the only places that offered her comfort. 

Which, strangely enough was the place that was once filled with vipers and too-sweet words murmured to another as politicians attempted to gain power in the king’s court.

Myltheas was nothing important to her, yet his gift had… touched her. The carved egg, and the small detailed portrait of her likeness. Such gifts from someone who held no cause to flatter, no stake in the life she led, beyond her own happiness. It touched her, however much she did not return the man’s affections. Thurin’dor was right, the man held only brute strength, but as Myltheas’ attentive paramour showed the woman had only found amusement. Amusement, that quickly turned to disappointment as the man she had shown her favored and returned affections to become venomous in the face of jealousy. Quickly turning his tongue against the simple minded girl and her obvious attraction to Myltheas.

The girl had attached herself so readily to Myltheas that she became possessive, immature, childish. Such things she thought Thurin’dor was above stooping to.

Such thoughts powered through her mind, with her back turned to the hallway. Safety, in the place where she had designed her armor as a younger mage.

Thurin'dor rounded the corner- and immediately came to a skidding halt, as he was met with the piercing gaze of an angry Zevarassia. There was... so many different emotions, available to read, across his refined features. But, most of all, there was... utter confusion. 

"What did I do?" he asked, a hand gesturing back out down the hall from which he'd came, "I was only making things... interesting, for the dear Kaldorei. I doubt the girl posed any serious threat." He approached- one, two steps before stopping again. 

"I didn't mean to insult your... relationship with the man. I'd not assumed it to be... a serious one," he added, ears crumpled, wilting at the sides of his head. Zevarassia 's eyebrows narrowed and she held him there in her gaze, a deep set frown set on her face.

"You toyed with a girl for no end. There was no need, there was no threat to your standing with me." Strong and driven legs pounded on the marbled floors, her hooves echoing in the chamber. 

"You played with her and had no mean to. I don't give a damn about Myltheas or his predicaments, but she wilted under your tongue." A pause, and she was upon him.

"If I had known the other uses it before, perhaps I would not have allowed you to disarm me either. The difference is though..." she flashed a wry smile, static filling the air between the two mages.

"I can withstand you. Her? She was no more than an ant to crush."

"I am ill-impressed by those who use honeyed-words to crush an ant beneath their heel." a sneer came upon her face and she took a deep breath, gulping in air from her quick words.

Thurin'dor didn't back down from Zevarassia, as he approached. But, it wasn't out of challenge or defiance. Neither made its presence known in his tone, or his features. Instead, there was only... a painstaking remorse. "I..." began Thurin'dor- and then he realized that he was having to genuinely explain himself, for maybe the first time in his long-yeared life. And that made him choke on his words. "...I saw your face, when you opened that gift. It... I... felt more than threatened..."

Zevarassia tilted her head and shook it, though her lips twitched in pain at the sight of his ears dropping and the pain in his voice. 

"Have you no confidence in me? Do you think I've gotten to this point in my life by flitting from one man to another?"

It took all of her inner strength to refrain from flying furthermore into him. Her hands clasped one another and she shook her head.

"I expected more from you. I thought you were better than the rest of the mages in Dalaran." She clucked her tongue and moved to turn away, shaking her head. 

"Threatened by a chocolate egg." she added in disgust.

Thurin'dor's lips parted to say something- but the words turned to stone in his throat before they could be spat out. He was caught between such deep inner conflict. A vicious tug-of-war between heart and mind, that raged violently and swiftly inside. Before Zeva could turn away fully, however, that war ended almost as hastily as it had begun- with a telling victor. 

"I don't want to lose you!" he cried out- pausing, face struck with a mixture of further confoundment, and shame, before he repeated in a quieter tone, a nigh whisper, 

"...I don't want to lose you. Especially not so some axe-swinging brute," the latter words, the label, tumbling out with a grumble. 

"I don't... know my place, when it comes to you. My... permanence."  
Zevarassia's mouth twisted into a wry and pained smile, and though she didn't move to walk away, there was no move to face him either. 

"Lose me?" Her voice was neutered of emotion. 

"Lose me how, exactly Thurin'dor Highsong?" The voice fell flat against the marble, mirroring the potential and supposed beauty of the stone. Though, in reality, it was just as rigid and devoid of life as the next.

"Do you know who I am?" A large pause between her words was all that echoed a warning of her immediate movement. She turned and approached him, creeping evermore closer, until he felt her breath on his neck. 

"Do you know who I am?" she repeated, her hands moving to trap him beneath her form. 

Thurin'dor was, quite literally, backed into the wall. His feet shuffled as Zevarassia drew nearer, and nearer, and before he knew it, the sword at his back was humming as it made contact with the marble. It was only then that he realized that he was cornered, with nowhere to go, watching as Zeva's hands kept him there. But Thurin'dor's hues never left the woman's. Not once. 

"I... thought I was starting to know you..." he whispered in reply, lips staying parted just a bit after he uttered that out, hands coming back to brace themselves against the stone.  
Zevarassia dipped her head down and hovered above his neck and collarbone. 

"Thurin'dor. I will never bed a man who preys upon the weak to solidify his standing with me. If you want me," she stopped and made fists with her hands. The stone seemed to crumple gently around her fists and her silver hues bore into his veilfire. 

"Impress me." 

"Challenge me," Zevarassia snarled. 

"But don't you -ever- crush a girl beneath your foot and expect me to approve." Her lips hovered above his own and she laughed gently. 

"I told you once you shouldn't play with a fire you can't control."

Her shoulders shifted and the whisper of a kiss brushed his own. 

"I was an ant too once." she murmured, her silver eyes flashing with a hidden emotion and she drew away from his lips in an act of reluctance to push such a thing upon him. 

"Consider this your one and only warning. I will not suffer fools in my company, much less my bed."

Thurin'dor felt... strange, to say the least. He'd never been one to take mercy on others. From ants to predators, Thurin'dor had stomped them all. He was cruel, and he needed to be cruel to survive- but the words flowing from Zevarassia's lips... those lips that brushed against his own and left Thurin instinctively leaning forward for more of her touch, by the time she pulled away... those words didn't fall on deaf ears. They were taking root within the Ren'dorei. They were taken to heart. 

Zevarassia admitting she'd 'once been an ant' only seemed to solidify the look of understanding, and remorse both that flooded Thurin'dor's features- which were left a bit darker hued than usual. "...forgive me, Archmage..." he replied, "I... Never again, will it happen."

Zeva’s tone changed and dropped from the one she had once carried as she glanced away.

"But if you don't think my actions have meant what they have, and you're threatened by a Kaldorei that happened to give me a chocolate egg? Even magic cannot fix a spineless weakling.”

Thurin’dor had been in a submissive spell up until now. The way he'd been backed down, walked into a wall and hovered over like some animal of prey was exciting in and of itself. But Zeva's prodding and pushing awakened a new excitement altogether- excitement. It quickly turned to determination the moment that word was levied against him. 'Spineless'. It had his eyes harden, narrowing into blazing slits that focused their attention much more sharply then on the Eredar who was now looking away. From the wall came a hand that reached up to seize Zeva's chin. Firmly. The elf would pull her gaze to his, inches apart, with his hold of the Archmage.

"I never want to hear you call me spineless again," he said- words coming as firmly as his hold of her had been. Thurin's other hand reached out for her belt, and without a second of hesitation he'd use that additional handle, coupled with a pivot of his heels, and the momentum of his lower center of gravity, to turn the tables and spin the Eredar into the wall, using his hand at her belt to keep her pinned with deceptive strength.

"Have you ever asked yourself, who -I- am?" came a reversal of Zeva's previous questioning.

Zevarassia's eyes widened and her mouth closed immediately, lest she bit her tongue in a desperate bid to keep herself from gasping in shock, and if she was telling the truth a bit of fear. 

"You saw me and immediately bent to my will," she sneered at him, her hand gripping his forearm in an equal embrace.  
"You saw something beautiful and all you wished for was to attain it, you didn't respect me until you learned my name, and even then- what?" she paused. 

Zevarassia was not a creature who simply backed down when the tides turned against her. If she had been, the Eredar would've been dead countless eons ago. "I am greater than you can ever lust for, ever imagine, what would you possibly do that would conquer me?" Her silver eyes darkened and swirled into tinged blue color as she narrowed her brow at him. 

"I had not any idea who you were, you were nothing to me, and yet I invited you into my tower, my place of safety, you saw things I should've ripped from your mind right then and there." Her shoulders rolled and she jutted her chin out at him. 

"Who else are you to me but the ant who wishes to bed the Madame des Arcana?" she finally threw in. Though a playful twinge at her stomach danced in her, all Zevarassia's words were true.

Thurin'dor 's lips pulled back into a coy, amused smile after a moment, letting Zevarassia's words hang in the air. "Have I not attained you, Archmage?" he asked, keeping his hand to hold the Eredar's chin in place, "From the moment you leapt into my lap, in Boralus?" 

Thurin moved his hand from the woman's chin, twisting it from her hold to settle upon one of those horns, in an attempt to lower her face eye level with his, no longer wishing to be peered down upon over nose and chin. 

"I've lusted for far more than Archmage's. I desire the world. Everything beyond it. My survival depends on it," continued the Elf, narrowing his eyes, wondering just how much to give away, to challenge words Zeva held as truths.

"You're a respite, from my crawls to power. A breath of fresh air, from an entire world you know nothing about." Thurin'dor brought his face forward, seeming as though to close in on Zeva's lips, only tug her a bit further down so he could play his words and his breath at her ear, "There's a reason you've never tasted my name, until I allowed it."

Thurin'dor 's lips pulled back into a coy, amused smile after a moment, letting Zevarassia's words hang in the air.

"I am the world." Zevarassia sneered, a taste of her vanity seeping into her very body. 

"I am greater than any "'dorei" would ever hope to be." Her hands dug into his wrists and her raw emotion fueled a very primitive form of magic, the rawest mana found in any mage. 

"I am the greatest thing you could ever hope to conquer, to hold, to claim and I will not suffer being told I am less then what I am." 

Her lips did not flow with the elegance she would perhaps choose over anything else, the mask she wore so easily when she was in any sort's company. Even his own. Instead, her words were hammered within her with a sound and a fury that only echoed her truest form and potential. Yet, still within her bravado and muster the pang of fear still hovered in the back of her eyes, in the back of her mind. 

The last time that her horns had been used against her, she was not the powerful Archmage, she was a young, stupid girl who mistook the interests of a mercenary for love.

A tremble on her lip betrayed her and Zevarassia's lips curled immediately after in disgust. Disgusted at her own weakness, for a Ren'dorei she could burn to arcane jelly if she chose.

It was in that moment, with all those different things floating around between the pair, that Thurin’dor simply... stepped away from Zevarassia. Emotions were always a bit hard to gauge in his strange, peculiar eyes- but it was evident across his features that something... faltered. Softened.

He’d felt that mana being charged, heard the thunder in the Eredar’s voice. But that wasn’t why he stepped away. In her own hues he saw something. In that tremble of her lips. And so the Voidshaper merely lingered there, staring at the Archmage before turning his head to the side. Snuffing the flames that leapt from his eye sockets as his tattooed hands balled into fists. Thurin’dor was quiet.

For a moment, until a very firm, and a very challenging, “No.” was voiced by the Elf. A simple word. But it held conviction, that would not be swayed by even the most vain and powerful of the Kirin Tor. 

“Freedom is the greatest thing I’d ever hope to hold,” he continued, cracking his eyes open to glare at Zevarassia, “And even you, in all your glory, could not possibly bring that about.”

"I could." she whispered, her shoulders falling as she pressed her against the marbled wall, her gaze falling short of his, angled at his waist, his hands, his feet. 

"I could if you asked." Zevarassia added softly. Her legs shook and she pressed a hand against the wall, fingers reaching and grasping at the stone for support. She breathed gently, quietly even, but deeply. Her head swam with thousands of emotions, all prodding and pressing within her to escape and delve deeper simultaneously.

"There's nothing that magic cannot fix." Her eyes lingered at his fists and she turned slightly, peering down the long hallway to the glistening lake outside the castle. A distraction.

“Why...?” came almost an immediate response from the Ren’dorei, who was now working to unclench his hands from the fists he’d subconsciously forced them into. “Why would you bring me something I’ve only dreamed of?” Thurin’dor further asked. 

“...You don’t even know the details, and yet your confidence remains. Your strength persists,” he added, out loud in thought- the unmistakable hint of a fondness taking his words. Of admiration. Despite what he’d said earlier of Zevarassia, it was still all too apparent that she meant more to him than he was willing to even say. More than he dared to say.

Soon enough, Thurin brought himself to a calm. A sigh left parted lips, the bottom one rolled and pinched between his teeth in thought, before stepping back over to the Eredar, whether or not his questions were answered.

Zevarassia made no move to welcome him and instead stilled, her gaze fixed on the gentle and lapping waves of the sight opposite of her eyes. The lake. Her silver eyes seemed to swim in a pool of emotion. Though, just because her eyes stayed on the shoreline did not mean her attentions were not fully on him. They always were. 

“I was a slave for a very long time, Thurin’dor.” She murmured, her cheek turning away from his approach ever so slightly. 

“If the Legions of Illidari had not been fueled by their own motives, I still would be.” Her words matched her body language and she closed her eyes. 

“I have my own reasons. Accept or dismiss it as you will.”

Thurin’dor gazed up at the Archmage. He stood before her, like one does before the altar in a church or a temple. Respectfully quiet. Reverently. She’d not see it, no, but his own body stilled. Hands clasped behind his back, and he made not another step forward. Zevarassia was poised away. And Thurin dared not impede upon such a defensive position. Not just yet.

“I’ll accept it,” he simply said.

More silence left him. Not for lack of words, but, out of thought. Consideration. When Thurin’dor spoke once again, his words were soft. Nearly whispered. “I am glad you know freedom. I don’t know your past... but... you deserve this present.” His gaze hung low then, placed upon the stone before Zeva’s hooves.

“I envy it. A chance to forge your own destiny. Instead of being confined to the schemes and existence of others.”

Zevarassia’s eyes fluttered towards his shoulders and frame, his hair on his chin and the messy locks she came to adore. “Thurin’dor.” 

A gentle murmur was all that escaped her lips. Softly, slowly, and most of all timidly she turned her body towards his. Her back came off the wall and her leg ached to move forward. 

The Eredar stood there for a moment, unsure of whether to address their seemingly shared pull to one another or silence it.

A flight of butterflies danced across her skin as she finally looked to his eyes. 

“Thurin’dor.” 

Again, her voice came flirting from her lips to the hallways and she held him there. 

Her hooves tenderly made contact with the marbled floor. A step. Then another. She would come back to his gift. Another step. Zevarassia moved towards him in a gentle sort of grace, a dance, tainted by her innate fear she still carried but propelled by a force far greater and more powerful than her own. 

She came upon him and beheld his face, a hand gentle and shaking reaching up to his neck. Then the other mirrored her right, and Zevarassia looked upon him with fear. This fear was different though and instead of permeating her core, danced across his skin and brought a dark blue haze to her cheeks.

“Zevarassia...?” whispered the mage in reply, tenderly, as she drew nearer and nearer, so quietly that it could not have possibly fallen on ears beyond his own and the Eredar’s. Before she even touched him, before her hands even made contact with his neck, Thurin’s ears were already falling low to the sides of his head. Those sensitive things, signaling delicate emotions of his own that were welling up within. 

Thurin’dor leaned into her touch, eyes lidding some as his own hands came up to settle upon her. Slowly. Gently at her sides. An instinctive urge came, to bring his face closer to Zeva’s- and he gave in to it, craning his head up just a bit to place his lips inches from her own, brushing them against her. And with one final, subtle movement, he’d offer her a full, gentle kiss. Given the height difference he found himself leaning upwards into the embrace, if she allowed- but he didn’t mind. It simply made him focus on her more.

Zevarassia held his neck there. Neither the timidness of her embrace or commanding tone of the previous ones. Gentle, needy kisses peppered his own.

A smile tugged at the edge of her face, yet Zevarassia made no move to halt her advance. Perhaps he'd find her shifting body strange, but Zevarassia... trusted this. A leg went out behind her to brace the shifting of her weight and toned body. Then, ever so carefully she lowered herself onto her knees before the Ren'dorei. 

Careful to not break the kiss, a hand pushed into his messy and dark locks and onto the back of his head, while the other trailed down to his chest. One pulled him towards her with a burning need and the other covered his heart, bracing the advance if he followed through. For once, just like when he had switched their positions against the wall, the power shifted.

Maybe she was submissive to him, or maybe this was her attempt to greet him finally in her heart and head as an equal.

With Zevarassia tucked just a bit below him now, Thurin found it much easier to lean into that kiss that was gradually growing in its gentle fervor. Just as hungrily, and needy, did his lips undulate against Zeva’s. His violetfire hues were shut tight, tattooed hands leaving her sides for one of them to rest in her hair, at the back of her head, the other nestled against the side of her face, fingers splayed across her jawline and cheek. It was a firm, but loving hold of her, fingers curling into her hair to sift and massage along her scalp.

The Ren’dorei had lowered himself a bit with her- but not fully on his knees just yet. Bent over her form, he used gravity to lean into the kiss. Small sighs left him, in those brief sips of air and pauses in the embrace. Sighs that were signaling an intent for more. A growing need.

Zevarassia licked his bottom lip teasingly, her teeth nibbling at the edges of his lips and mouth. Her hand resting on his chest braced him against her, not halting his dip into her intimacy, but a gentle warning. 

Still, her head seemed to buck into his, her adorned horns chattering and clinking gently in the hall. Silver eyes glowed behind closed eyes and she whimpered against his touch. 

Hands eventually slipped to trail across his forearms, tracing the slips and edges of his armor. In time they reached his hands and her gloved fingertips traced his tattooed wrists and hands.

Thurin’dor loosed a quiet little groan, when he felt her tongue and teeth alike teasing at his lips. He couldn’t help but crack them open just a bit, to welcome Zeva’s tongue in for the brief moment it flicked along his mouth. Those long, pale ears of Thurin’s stayed low, held down by affection still, that whimper that kissed them only seeming to egg the Ren’dorei on in his own affections.

After a moment or two longer of simply enjoying the taste of Zevarassia, however, Thurin pulled his lips from hers. Just enough to speak and whisper against her skin.

“Do you want to go elsewhere?” he asked, his breath panted out just a bit. Violetfire hues flicked down to Zeva’s own closed pair.

"I don't think we should go from yelling, to pushing, to fucking." she murmured against his skin. 

A gentle hand traced his jawline as she looked up adoringly. Her expression was... peaceful, gentle and full of something that rarely, if ever came upon her. 

"I think we should go to bed." Zevarassia suggested against his skin, pressing a kiss to his lips again. She trailed slowly from the corner of his mouth to his jawline, then to the bottom of his ear as she gave a little nibble. 

"I never enjoy leaving you." she whispered into his ear.

"I promise you that I know your pain."

A pause and her gloved hands took his, gentle and nurturing, "I am a very old creature. I am also an Archmage."

She hesitated and withdrew looking up at him with a vulnerable face.

"I am most importantly a woman, too."

"You're right, I'm sorry... but your yelling did rather... excite me..." murmured the Ren'dorei in reply to her former comment, his words coming out so, so sheepish after those affections to his ears. Pleasure and warmth had seized his features, and he had found himself leaning into that kiss, and promptly angling his ear into the one that nibbled at his lobe. Thurin's hands in hers, he weaved his fingers into her own, more than content to just simply be sharing these comforts than anything else. Especially that whisper to his ear, that sent a visible shiver through his body.

"...let's not... leave each other then," came another murmur of a whisper, his eyes to hers now, "At least... not tonight. I can't spend it... alone. With what I've told you. Knowing you... relate."

Zevarassia let out a low whimper and flushed visibly, her eyes darkening at her body's immediate reaction. Her hands immediately tightened in his grip and she looked up at him hesitantly. 

"I kick in my sleep a lot." she murmured, trying to control herself and her reaction. 

"Though, the idea is..." Zevarassia looked up to him adoringly, reaching to thumb the tender part of his ear between her index and thumb.

Once more, Thurin'dor found himself absolutely leaning into Zeva's touch, his ear flicking as it was gently caught between her fingers. It made his eyes come down into content little slits, and drew a soft breath from parted lips, that he couldn't help but lean forward to press against hers. A brief, pleading kiss, that caught her bottom lip before pulling away. 

"...please..." he murmured across her skin, bringing his forehead to rest gently against her own, "I won't mind your kicking, Archmage."

"I-" a brief flash of fear flashed in her face before she took the consideration of his adoration and genuinity. 

"If you truly wish that, then..." she muttered against his skin. Rising gently she enveloped him in her embrace, a hand threading through his hair to the back of his head and pulling him in for a kiss as her eyes flashed with mana. 

Then, pulling away for a moment she gave him a gentle smile and looked around them, a relaxation coming upon her as she looked about them. 

"It's only the Mage District. Not across the world." she added, gauging his reaction.

By the time they were across the city, Thurin'dor was a ball of warmth and comfort. That embrace, and final kiss had really done the trick for the Ren'dorei. He didn't even care where they ended up- he didn't even look around to the new surroundings. Thurin kept his eyes fast to Zeva's, all smiles as he searched her silvery hues. Let his gaze rove her features, longing to be close to them once again. 

"I'm rather fond of the Mage District," he replied, with a cant of his head to the side.

"And I'm rather fond of my first lover," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek before quickly moving to undress. 

They stood in the middle of the room when they first teleported in, a massive bed behind Zevarassia with a trunk at the end of the bed. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and a painting hung above the bed. A small fireplace laid with grey and black stones sat across from the bed. Zevarassia turned away from the bed, heading to her left, further into the room behind a privacy screen under the curved stairs. Across at the other end of the room, stained glass painted pictures of a hillside and rolling fields, across the entirety of the wall. 

A few moments later, with her armor manifesting on an armor stand by her bed as she undressed, Zevarassia emerged naked, moving towards the bed.

"My bed." she groaned, falling onto the black furs.

Those departing words left Thurin'dor entranced. "Your first lover...?" he had whispered out, barely audible as Zevarassia left to make herself comfortable. He stood there for a moment, in thought- and let his gaze wander to the interior of the room that he found himself in. The books and stained glass certainly caught his attention- enough that he'd not even bothered to think of undressing, by the time the Archmage stepped back in. Her figure immediately drew back all of his attention to her, Thurin left practically gawking as she dropped into the comfort of her bed. 

"Zevarassia..." he sighed out, before moving closer to the bedside, hands reaching up to begin unclasping his own armor, making haste to render himself as bare as Zeva was, nothing more than pale, violet tinged skin and tattoos. He crawled into bed right alongside her, without hesitation. 

"...you make me question, why I had ever considered Elven beauty to be the greatest this world offered," he mused, truthfully, turning on his side to face the Eredar, an arm propped up, the side of his face braced in that hand now.

"My most loyal lover. This bed is my favorite." she murmured, pressing a kiss against his chest and resting her cheek against his heartbeat. 

She stayed there for a moment, adjusting herself so that the back of her head lay against his chest. Self consciously she also drew up one of the treated black sheepskins and put it underneath the tip of the horn that touched his skin. A gentle sigh escaped her lips and she closed her eyes, one of her hands resting beside her head, palm open to his.

"I think you keep on out-doing yourself when you flatter me." she murmured, half-asleep.


End file.
